


Give You a Reason (To Stay)

by TheLastTactician



Series: I Won't Leave You Like This (I Promise I'll Hold You Up) [1]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Ain't nobody be messin' with Stiles' clique, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, BAMF Stiles, Episode: s02e12 Master Plan, Female Stiles Stilinski, Gen, Sheriff Stilinski is a Good Dad, Stiles Saves The Day
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-11
Updated: 2013-10-11
Packaged: 2017-12-29 03:11:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,929
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1000179
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheLastTactician/pseuds/TheLastTactician
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles knew she had to get Erica and Boyd out of the Argents' basement.  So she did.  She just wasn't expecting to accidentally became maybe-sorta-kinda-not-really pack.  She can't say she really minded, after all.</p>
<p>Peter being alive was a bit of a surprise, though.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Give You a Reason (To Stay)

When Gerard finally left, he left with a slammed door and a smug chuckle. He left with two teenage werewolves strung up from the ceiling, on a constant current of electricity, and a broken teenage girl on the cold floor.

Stiles was curled into a ball on the ground, her elbows digging into her upper thighs and her right leg hitched up just a touch higher to guard her stomach. Her fingers were curled over the back of her neck protectively, strands of her hair wrapped around her fingers from where she had tugged to try and distract from the pain.

As soon as the basement door shut with a sharp snap, Stiles' body loosened unconsciously. She flexed her hand only to yelp helplessly, bringing her right hand out in front of her face, Stiles winced at the swollen, dark blue-purple thing in front of her. The feeling was unfortunately familiar and Stiles was at least ninety-percent certain that it was broken. Using her left arm this time, she pushed herself up enough so that she could at least sit.

Closing her eyes tightly, Stiles swallowed thickly and tried to force her brain back online. It didn't work as seamlessly as she hoped, but eventually she managed to get herself to the point where it wasn't just pain and scared and panic.

A sobbing-whimper broke through her haze and Stiles turned to blink sluggishly at the two werewolves still strung up from the ceiling. Erica was twitching feebly from the electrical current running through her body and mascara was streaked all around her eyes and down her cheeks. Boyd's eyes were wide and terrified, and his muscles bulged as he tugged on the bonds holding him up; wincing every time it sent an extra bolt through it body.

Exhaling shakily, Stiles brought her left arm over to her legs and began pressing along her shins and ankles and feet. Besides some painful bruising, she figured that nothing was broken and, with some help from the wall, began to pull herself up.

It was a slow process, her muscles trembly and weak; but she persisted until she could stumble her way across the cold basement and back over to the two wolves. Coming to a stop in front of them, Stiles' eyes roved over the wires crossing around their wrists and followed it down to the car battery across the room.

“Okay...” she said, her voice hoarse as her eyes flicked between them. “I'm going to get you out, okay? Just give me a minute.”

Erica sobbed through the duct tape and Boyd strained towards her again. She smiled shakily, and brought her the sleeve of her hoodie up to wipe away the tear tracks. She flinched, however, when she came into contact with her left cheek. Bringing her fingers up, the tips came away spotted with blood and Stiles grimaced at the sight before shaking her head and bringing her mind back to the problem at hand.

She staggered over to the car battery, but found that it was harder to focus now that she knew about the cuts on her cheek. They must've split open from Gerard's ring. Her lower lip throbbed and her ribs felt uncomfortably tight in her chest; almost constricting her lungs. Stiles could only hope that they weren't broken, however, as she dropped down to eye the battery.

Glancing around, Stiles made her way over to the armoire behind the wolves and began searching it. In the third drawer, she found a Swiss army knife and pocketed it in her now ripped and filthy jeans. In the fifth drawer, however, she hit the jackpot when she found a socket wrench. She crowed her victory and made her way back over to the battery. It was lucky, in a way, that her jeep was so old and beat-up. It meant that she knew how to do things like replace car batteries or, in this case, shut them off. She unhooked the wires connecting to the battery and could hear it when Boyd slumped down in his bonds and Erica sobbed in relief.

“See?” Stiles chuckled roughly. “We're getting better already.”

Dropping the wrench at her feet, Stiles turned back around and pulled out the pocket knife to cut through the bindings around their wrists. It only took one look into Boyd's eyes to convince her to start with Erica; the blonde was looking at her with such faith and hope that it created a physical ache in her chest. Reaching up as high as she could, Stiles wrapped her right arm around Erica's middle and used her left to saw through. The angle was awkward and, simply because she was using her left hand, it was much more difficult then it probably should've been.

Eventually, she got through it and Erica dropped forward, her arms looping over Stiles' neck from where they were still connected together. The much smaller girl stumbled against the sudden weight, and her body screamed in protest, though she ignored it as best she could. When Erica got her feet back under her, Stiles gently peeled away the duct tape and didn't push when Erica tightened her arms around Stiles' neck.

“I'm so sorry,” Erica whispered into her shoulder.

“What for, Catwoman?” Stiles asked, too tired to really pull off 'cheery and teasing'. “As far as I'm concerned, you didn't do anything wrong –well, there was that time you knocked me in the face with my own car part. But that had a bit of poetry to it, so I'm sure I'll let it slide.”

Erica whimpered and shook her head, trying to burrow further into Stiles. The brunette winced as the action jolted her wrist, but she pushed it back in favour of running her left hand down Erica's spine like one would a cat. It was awkward, especially as she still had the knife in her hand, but Stiles didn't think the blonde minded much.

“Come on, Erica,” she said at last, “let's get Boyd out, okay? We can't stay here.”

She nodded and pulled away, tugging her arms over Stiles' head and allowing her to cut through the bonds at her wrist. When she was free, Erica turned on her heel and hurried to Boyd's side. Her hands flitted over the duct tape and quickly pulled it off before she reached up to slice through the bonds at his wrist, letting his arms free as he dropped. Stiles lurched forward just in time to help Erica balance Boyd and the guy fought to get his feet under his body.

“You okay?” Stiles asked him, her hands flitting over him gently in search of injury. She knew that he would be able to hide something like that much easier then the blonde at her side.

“'m fine,” Boyd replied, his voice a deep rumble in his chest, “but you –Stiles...”

Stiles cringed faintly before slapping on a grin. “I know, I look horrible.”

“No, it's not that,” Erica said as Boyd shook his head. “Stiles, he shouldn't've –I mean, you're only human.”

“She's right.”

Stiles whipped around fast, wobbling slightly on her still-shaky legs. But her arms came up protectively, herding the two werewolves behind her. She knew, logically, that the Argents would rough her up but wouldn't kill her; despite her connections to the werewolves in Beacon Hills, she was still human and her father was still the sheriff. Erica and Boyd, however, were wolves. Stiles knew from first-hand experience that they'd have absolutely no qualms about killing them.

It seemed, however, that they were in luck. For it wasn't psycho-Allison or creepy/terrifying-Gerard; instead, it was Chris standing on the stairs. His shoulders were hunched forward slightly and his chin was tilted down, but there was a darkness in his eyes that wasn't normally there, a sort of unease that made him look like he wished to fidget.

“What? Haven't got enough of torturing teenagers?” Stiles snapped, her body beginning to tremble again.

“Stiles--”

“Fuck you.”

For a moment, there was no sound in the room; an unnatural stillness settling over them all uneasily. Stiles couldn't quite bring herself to care, however, as her body trembled from not only pain but fatigue, exhaustion, and anger. For the first time that night, Stiles felt more than pain and fear course it's way through her body. Now, it was joined with a seething, burning hate and she couldn't help but wonder if this was what Peter felt when he ripped Kate's throat out; deep-seated hatred and vindication at getting to kill the bitch whom destroyed his family.

If she were in her right mind, perhaps she'd feel vaguely nervous about snapping at the experienced hunter. But as it was, Stiles couldn't quite bring herself to care –not about this; not now. Besides, after what she had been through that night, it could be safely assumed that Stiles really wasn't in any position to be making good decisions.

Chris raised his hands placatingly, a pained look in his eyes. “Stiles, please, I--”

“I don't care,” her voice was like a whip, cracking sharp and hard. “I really don't care what you please. As far as I'm concerned? You and yours can go jump off a fucking cliff.”

“I know--”

“No, you really freaking don't, okay?” Stiles' voice raised hysterically. “You really freaking don't. You and your family seem to have this weird thing against young werewolves, dude. Like, I don't even know why anymore, okay? We haven't done anything to you. We've never broken your code, or hurt anybody –we haven't done anything! And you– you just–“

Embarrassingly enough, Stiles felt hot tears begin to prick behind her eyes and a knot form in her throat. Swallowing roughly, she shook her head and backed up, keeping the wolves behind her.

“Stiles, please,” Chris said, his voice soft and quiet. “I didn't know my father was planning on taking you.”

“But you knew about Erica and Boyd,” Stiles shot out, even as tears began to make her vision swim. “You knew that they had been taken. You knew that they were strung up down here being hurt.”

“It's not that simple--”

“Well, I don't understand what's so difficult!” She cried, tears beginning to slip out. “I don't understand how you can stand there and pretend you have a fucking leg to stand on! They're kids, Argent! Can you not see that? They're Allison's age!”

“They're werewolves--!”

“Who cares?” Stiles asked hysterically, barely noticing the moment that Erica's grip became less afraid and more protective, barely noticing when Boyd's arm slipped around her waist to keep her standing. “Who cares what they are?! That's like saying 'she was asking for it, look at her clothes!' or 'who cares? he's just a black kid!' It's bullshit and you know it! You know it!”

Chris averted his eyes, and his throat bobbed. Stiles, however, didn't look away; not even caring anymore that her body was a trembling mess and tears were a steady stream down her cheeks, slipping down her neck.

“We haven't done anything,” Stiles told him, her voice quieter but no less convicted. “We haven't done anything. We want to go home, just let us go home...”

He met her eyes then, icy blue to burnt umber; Stiles didn't know what it was that he saw, but whatever it was, it was enough for him to nod.

“Come with me,” he said, his tone subdued, “I'll take you home.”

“Okay,” Stiles whispered, her voice croaky.

Chris started back up the stairs, but this time, the three teenagers followed him. Erica and Boyd both kept a firm grip on Stiles, Erica's hand twining with hers and Boyd keeping an arm wrapped around her middle, keeping her on her feet.

The four were silent as they traversed the house, and it was almost choking inside the car. But the three teenagers piled into the backseat together, keeping close together as though seeking comfort. Chris drove them to Stiles' house and let them out by the curb, before he pulled away, however, he called Stiles back.

“Stiles,” he said quietly, “I'm sorry. Really. I didn't know--”

“Mr. Argent, with all due respect,” Stiles told him, “go away. I don't care that you didn't know about me. I don't care if you didn't intend for it to happen. I don't care right now. All I want? Is to go and make sure my dad doesn't have a heart attack or break down because he thinks his only child, and only family, is missing or worse. I want to make sure that Erica and Boyd are okay. I want to make sure that my friends are okay. But above all? I want to make the pain go away. You can't help me do any of that, because frankly? You were an indirect cause of most of it. So please. Go away.”

Without waiting for his reply, Stiles turned and limped up the driveway to the front of her house, Erica and Boyd following her cautiously. She heard the car start up and Chris Argent pull away from her house, but she ignored it in favour of leaning heavily against her front door.

“Stiles?” Erica asked in a small voice. “What happens now?”

Stiles turned her head to look at her, after a long moment she closed her eyes with a sigh. “Now? Now, I'm going to go inside and you two are going to come with me. Now, I'm going to tell my dad that some guys from the other team thought I was Scott's girlfriend and decided to kick the shit out of me. Then, I'm going to take a shower and you two are going to wait for me, or take ones yourselves, and then we're going to go to Derek.”

“Derek?” Boyd asked.

Stiles nodded against the door, the hard wood grounding her. “Yes, Derek. Your Alpha. Mr. Sourwolf himself.”

“Stiles, we...” Erica fidgeted slightly, her hand reaching for her opposite elbow, “we kind of told Derek we weren't part of the pack.”

The diminutive brunette stared at her for a long minute before sighing quietly and pushing away from the door to look at Erica fully. “Okay,” she said, “and why did you do that?”

“We thought we heard another pack out here,” Boyd replied quietly, “we were going to ask to join their pack.”

“Why?”

“Because...” Erica glanced at Boyd before responding, “because we don't really think Derek can help us.”

“You don't think he's a good Alpha?”

At their uncomfortable looks, Stiles smiled mirthlessly. “Oh, don't worry, I noticed it too,” she told them, “he's rude and angry and snaps far too easily. He almost seems like he's fumbling in the dark, right?”

“Kinda,” Erica said, her mouth twitching upwards in a helpless smile.

“Fair,” Stiles told them, “and you understand exactly what it's like to be a werewolf, right?” Both of them frowned but Stiles pushed on before they could speak. “Because if you didn't, I'd have to ask you why you thought Derek knew how to be an Alpha.”

“We thought...”

“You thought that he would turn three teenagers into werewolves simply because he wanted to?” Stiles asked her skeptically. “Come on, Catwoman, you're smarter then that.”

“He needed a pack,” Boyd said. “That's why he turned us.”

“And why would he need a pack if he were already an Alpha? Hell, why would he need a pack period?”

“Because... he didn't have one?” Erica tried, sounding confused.

“Pretty much,” Stiles snorted, crossing her arms over her chest carefully. “I don't know how much Derek's told you of what happened; but pretty much his entire pack was wiped out in the Hale fire. The only others to survive were his sister and his uncle, and even then, it was his sister to become Alpha, not Derek. Then she was killed by his uncle, and then Derek killed his uncle and became Alpha. What does that tell you?”

“If things had panned out, he was never going to be an Alpha werewolf,” Boyd replied, a light of understanding entering his eyes. “He's still just learning.”

“Exactly,” Stiles nodded. “His family was wiped out seven years ago, when he was still a teenager. Can you look me in the eye and tell me that if you needed to copy your parents exactly, you could do it? Never mind the fact that seven years ago was the last time he even saw a functional pack; could you do it now?”

“No, I couldn't,” Erica responded softly, her eyes gentling.

“See?” Stiles smiled (though it turned into a grimace when her lip split open again). “My point exactly. You've got to give him time to get better, you know? So yeah, we're going to Derek's after this. We're probably going to have to sneak out, or maybe go in the morning, because there's no way my dad's going to just let me go; not after disappearing.”

Erica and Boyd nodded in understanding and watched as Stiles dug her key out of her front pocket and unlocked the door. It swung open quietly and Stiles made her way into the house, searching for her dad quietly. Looking up the stairs, she made a face at the thought of climbing them but she began anyways, knowing Erica and Boyd were right behind her. She found her dad in her bedroom, a lost look on his face as he stared down at the phone in his hands.

“Oh god, Stiles, where are you?” He whispered into the room.

“Right here,” she couldn't help but quip.

His head whipped round and sharp blue eyes roved over her searchingly, lingering on her bruised arm and the cuts on her face. He stepped forward, his face crumpling as he looked at his daughter.

“Oh god, baby girl, what happened?” He asked, his hands coming up to cradle her face.

“Daddy–“ her voice broke over the word and the sheriff pulled her in tight.

Stiles couldn't help it, for the third time that night, she broke out into tears, sobbing into her father's chest. She felt his arms come around to engulf her tightly, and his chin rested on her head protectively as he cradled her.

“What. Happened.” His voice was hard and she knew he was using his sheriff-face on the Betas.

“It –it was the other team, sir,” Erica stumbled over her words. “They thought she was Scott's girlfriend or something.”

“We got them to stop,” Boyd picked up where Erica left off. “But –I'm sorry, we weren't quite fast enough.”

“It wasn't their fault,” Stiles mumbled into her father's chest, confident that he could hear her. “They helped me, Daddy.”

John's eyes gentled as he looked at his daughter and he nodded slowly, pressing a kiss to her forehead. “Thank you,” he said, his tone grateful. “Thank you so much.”

“She's our friend,” Erica replied, honesty ringing in every word and making Stiles' heart pound. “One of our closest. We'd do anything for her.”

Stiles flushed, and she knew her father was practically radiating with pride as he pressed another kiss to her hair.

“Do you kids need a ride anywhere?” John asked, his tone rough. “Home, maybe? Your parents are probably worried.”

Stiles knew the moment Erica and Boyd froze and she pulled back to look up at her father. “Do you mind if –if they stay for a while?” She asked, biting her lip. “Please?”

John took one look at his daughter and softened instantaneously, nodding. “Sure thing, sweetheart. Do you need anything?”

She shook her head, hugging him tightly once again, drawing comfort. “No,” Stiles said, “I'm probably just going to take a shower and collapse into bed, if that's alright?”

He nodded and hugged her back, mindful of her injuries. “Sure thing, kid. And if you need anything--”

“I know, Daddy.”

Giving his daughter one last look, John stepped away, nodding to Erica and clapping Boyd on the shoulder, he headed down the stairs. Standing in her bedroom, Stiles inhaled shakily before letting it out slowly and turning to look at the wolves, smiling self-deprecatingly.

“I really do need to take a shower,” she told them. “I'll be back in a minute.”

Digging through her drawers and taking a towel from the linen closet, she entered into her bathroom quietly and turned on the water. Her body was a walking watercolour; her torso was splotchy around her sides, and there was even a harsh bruise on her stomach. Her wrist was so dark it almost looked black, her shins looked horrible; and there were streaks of blood on her cheek from the cut on the cheekbone.

The hot water stung, but Stiles painstakingly cleaned out her wounds with the antiseptic in the first aid kit sitting underneath the sink. She wrapped a strip of gauze around her wrist tight enough to stabilize but not enough to cut-off circulation; knowing that she'd probably have to get an x-ray at some point. Stiles didn't have enough to wrap her ribs, but she didn't really know if they needed it anyways, so she left them alone.

Redressing in pyjama bottoms, they slid down her hips slightly simply because of how much bigger they were, but they were soft and warm and they didn't cling to her legs uncomfortably. She then tugged on a simple white long-sleeved shirt and reentered her bedroom.

Erica sat on her bed, picking at the covers, and Boyd was sitting at her desk, his elbows on knees and hands loosely clasped between. They both looked up as she entered, and winced as the flush from the heat only brought her bruising into greater contrast.

“Okay,” Stiles told them hoarsely, “here's what'll happen. You'll go downstairs, saying that I'm about to fall asleep and -if one of you can- you'll run to the school parking lot and pick up my jeep, okay?”

“I'll do it,” Boyd replied, “Erica can't drive.”

She blinked in surprise and Erica blushed, shrugging as she looked away. “Dude, remind me to teach you later,” Stiles said offhandedly, “it'll be useful if you know. Plus, it's like a right of passage, so that too.” Erica looked surprised, and perhaps a bit pleased as Boyd hid his smile. Stiles shook her head to clear it and pushed on. “You'll both leave through the front door, and when you come back, I'll be watching out my window. When you get back, give me -like- five or ten minutes just to make sure my dad isn't about to come upstairs, and then I'll climb down, okay?”

“How?” Erica asked, glancing at the window.

Stiles smiled faintly. “I'll climb out the window and use the tree outside. I've done it before, dude. So not the first time I've snuck out.”

Erica and Boyd smiled back at her, and for a moment, no one moved. But then Erica was up and across the room, tugging Stiles into a careful -but solid- hug. Stiles was surprised for a moment, before bringing her arms up and hugging her back.

“Thank you, Stiles,” the blonde said.

“What would I be without my Catwoman?” Stiles replied, grinning faintly and ignoring the way it tugged on her lip. “Now go on, okay? Sooner you go, sooner we can get out of here.”

Erica nodded and headed out; Boyd came over to squeeze her arm gently before following Erica out the door. Stiles, however, wandered over to her bed and collapsed onto it. Waiting. She heard the front door open and shut, and almost immediately, feet on the stairs followed. A short, soft knock on the door made Stiles mumbled enough permission to let her father open the door and slip in, sitting on her bed.

“Hey kiddo,” he said softly, running a hand through her hair. “How bad is it?”

“Bad enough to be a pain, but not so bad as to need the hospital,” her voice was muffled by her comforter.

“Do you know who did it, sweets?” He pressed. “Did you see them?”

Stiles shrugged faintly, holding back her wince as it jostled her ribs. “Not really,” she replied, rolling over to look up at him. “It was too dark –and it happened fast...”

John grimaced angrily, a tick in his jaw. “I'll ask your friends, the two that were with you, later on. And when I find out who those kids were, I swear, I'll pistol-whip them.”

She grinned faintly. “I love you too, Daddy. But the Sheriff can't do shit like that, and you know it.”

He snorted derisively. “See if I care,” he gave her a fatherly look, fond and affectionate. “You're my little girl; I don't much care if I'm sheriff as long as you're okay, sweets.”

“I love you too, Dad,” she smiled, trying to ignore the roiling guilt in her gut.

John smiled and pressed another kiss to her forehead. “Get some sleep, kiddo, okay? Feel better.”

“Will do, daddy-o.”

He snorted with amusement and shook his head, walking out of the room and shutting the door behind him quietly. Leaving Stiles to stare up at her ceiling and feel like shit. She didn't really want to lie to her father, but how could she tell him the truth? The guilt churned in her stomach and it wasn't until headlights flashed the house briefly that Stiles pushed herself up.

Pulling on socks and her runners, she gripped her sweater and swung it over her, grimacing at the pull on her injuries. Creeping over to her door, she cracked it opened and listened closely, she moved further out to look down the stairs and could just see her dad sitting on the couch with an open bottle of whiskey in front of him and a filled tumbler. Grimacing, and knowing he was probably going to drink himself into a stupor, Stiles went back into her bedroom, closing and locking the door. From there, she went to the window and opened it, crawling out and easily gripping onto the branch just overhead. It was a bitch to do with only one good arm, but Stiles managed to pull herself close enough to the trunk of the tree to start to climb down with ease.

She dropped the last few feet and hurried over to her jeep, sitting idle in the middle of the road. Boyd was sitting in the passenger's seat with Erica in the back, yellow eyes glinting at her in the dark. Ignoring the creepiness, Stiles got into the driver's seat, put it in drive and punched it.

They made it to the Hale house in record time, and Stiles threw the car in park before getting out ungracefully and striding towards the burnt-down husk. The door swung open before they could reach it, Boyd and Erica stilling at her back as Alpha-red and Beta-blue eyes peered out at them.

“I cannot see in the dark,” Stiles said bluntly. “Derek, seriously, I've had a shit night on top of a shit week paired with a shit month. No, you know what? Fuck it. Cancel the rest of the freaking year, because I don't know how it's going to get better. But I found your puppies and I brought them home; now let us in, damn it.”

Derek (or, well, Stiles assumed it was Derek) rumbled in reply and the red blinked out for a minute before a light turned on inside the house. It gave off just enough light for Stiles to see Peter Hale standing in the doorway, smirking at her.

“You--” Stiles shook her head and threw her arms in the air. “Nope, fuck it, don't care. I'm not even surprised anymore. Can't kill evil only once. Did you leave a horcrux somewhere, Voldemort?”

“I'm sure I have no idea what you're talking about,” Peter replied, smirk never slipping.

“Shut up,” Derek snapped at him as he stormed out of the house and onto the lawn. “What do you want, Stiles?”

“I told you; I'm bringing your puppies back,” she gestured to Erica and Boyd.

“Stiles–“ Erica swallowed. “Stiles convinced us to come back; she said that you were learning how to be an Alpha just as we were learning how to be werewolves.”

Derek's eyes snapped to hers and Stiles shrugged. “Facts are facts, Sourwolf. And they were a lot more willing to come back once they understood.”

His eyebrows furrowed, but he didn't scowl. In fact, his eyes lessened back to their human crystalline green. “So, you're coming back to the pack?” He clarified, his arms crossed and legs shoulder-width apart.

“Yes,” Boyd answered, taking Erica's hand and stepping out from behind Stiles. “If you'll still have us.”

Derek's merely looked at them for a moment before nodding once. It was enough to make Erica and Boyd visibly slump with relief and Stiles to exhale in a whoosh. “Oh thank god,” she sighed.

“Get in,” Derek rolled his eyes, turning into the house.

Erica and Boyd scrambled after him and Stiles walked up the stairs slowly, following Peter as he casually turned and strolled after his Alpha. Stiles narrowed her eyes at him for a long moment before huffing out a breath and shoving her hands into her front pockets.

“Have something to say to me, Stiles?” He asked loftily, cobalt blue eyes meeting her own brown ones.

“Just wondering if you'd want to help me chuck Gerard Argent off of a cliff,” she muttered with a snort.

His eyes sharpened, intrigue peaking at her words. “Oh? Is that why you smell of blood and pain and why there are bruises and cuts on your face?”

“Where else would I have got them?” Stiles asked him dryly, gesturing towards the Betas.

“You've had a taste of Argent hospitality then,” Peter smiled, showing his teeth. “I take it the stay was unpleasant?”

Stiles snorted. “If I didn't think Chris Argent had a bone of morality in him and Allison wasn't a kid; I might just suggestion chucking all of them into the ocean.”

“I thought you told Chris Argent to jump off a cliff?” Erica asked her as they entered the den, Derek watching them closely.

“It was either that or telling him to go fuck a duck, but that one just didn't work as well,” Stiles snarked.

“They went after you.”

Stiles turned to look at the Alpha; Derek's eyes were red again, bright and angry. “Correction: Gerard went after me,” she told him flatly. “I was to be a warning to Scott. Funny how shit works, isn't it?”

“Are you alright?” He asked her.

Stiles frowned, more in confusion than anything else. “Am I alright? I–”

“Her ribs,” Erica said suddenly, before Stiles even finished her sentence. “She managed to get her wrist, but not her ribs.”

“Dude!” Stiles protested. “Not cool, and how do you know that?”

“We could hear your bones creaking,” Boyd told her flatly.

“Are my ribs broken?” Stiles asked quite suddenly, poking at her torso and hissing when she hit a bruise. “Can you hear that? Broken ribs are not good, dude. Especially if they puncture my lungs; seriously, if that happens I've only got -like- fifteen minutes max.”

“I'm sure you'll survive,” Peter told her silkily.

“I'd prefer as a human,” she shot.

“They're not broken,” Derek grunted. “Badly bruised, yes, and they should probably be wrapped. Erica, there's a kit upstairs. Go get it.”

“You could say 'please', you know,” Stiles griped as Boyd came over to push her onto a surprisingly-not-dilapidated couch. “Flies with honey and whatever.”

Derek rolled his eyes as Erica came back into the room with the first aid kit. Stiles eyed it warily, not taking comfort in the fact that Derek flipped it open and searched through it with surprising proficiency.

“You know how to use that, right?” She asked him. “I mean, you are a werewolf. And besides the occasional TLC after a scrap, you don't really need to use those.”

He gave her an irritated look. “My younger brother was human,” he told her tautly. “He used to try and rough around with my little sister; who was a werewolf.”

“And big brother Derek was always a little too busy to watch them right, and ended up having to treat them for something before Mommy and Daddy got home,” Peter added saucily.

“Shut up.” Derek snapped, before turning to Stiles and gesturing to her shirt and hoodie. “You're going to have to pull those off or up.”

“What?” She squeaked, her face blooming red.

The barest touch of pink hit Derek's cheeks, but he just glared harder. “You heard me.”

Stiles flushed darker, and fiddled with the zip on her hoodie for a moment before muttering darkly about werewolves and unzipping before tugging it off. Gripping the hem of her shirt, she lifted it up, hissing in pain as it tugged on her ribs, even as she squirmed to pull it off.

Erica whimpered and Boyd growled low in his throat as her multicoloured torso was bared to the chill air. Stiles shivered minutely and took a moment to thank whatever foresight she had that she had put on a plain white cotton bra rather then something embarrassing.

Derek's jaw tightened and his eyes were dark with something resembling anger as he looked at her torso. But his hands were steady and warm as he took a roll of bandages and began to unravel it; his cheeks pinked again as he had to push up the band on her bra in order to nestle the bandages right underneath her breasts. Stiles shivered faintly, but otherwise didn't comment as Derek's calloused but gentle hands began to pull the bandages around her.

“Why did you come here, Stiles?” Peter asked her, an odd glint in his eyes.

Stiles twisted her neck to frown up at him; her face still somewhat red from how much of her skin was on display. “For Erica and Boyd,” she told him. “Duh.”

“Really?” Peter questioned, cocking a brow. “You could've just dropped them off and left, instead you came in.”

She spluttered incoherently. “I didn't know that was such a crime,” she said once she could get the words out.

“Peter,” Derek growled out, his eyes flashing at his uncle.

“I'm just curious,” Peter said pleasantly.

“Curious my ass,” Stiles muttered, gasping when Derek tugged too tight. “Dude!”

“Don't call me 'dude',” Derek retorted, though his hands smoothed over her ribs in something like an apology.

“I'm glad Stiles is here,” Erica declared, glaring at Peter.

He snorted. “I'm sure you are. After all, she convinced you to come back to your Alpha; she took the time looking after you; she made sure you were safe. Yes, of course you're glad she's here.”

Derek growled again, a hint of fang in his frown as he scowled upwards. “Peter...”

Peter raised his hands in submission. “I was just commenting.”

“What's he saying?” Stiles asked, her head swinging around to look at the Alpha. “He's saying something pertaining to werewolves, isn't he? What's he saying?”

Even Boyd looked curious now, as he and the girls turned to look at Derek. Peter, however, smirked, as though he had gotten exactly what he wanted. Stiles had no doubt that he had gotten what he wanted; as she was pretty sure what he wanted was for Derek to admit something. Something about what Stiles had done. And that, well, that just made her curious.

“Derek?” She pressed. “What did I do?”

His eyes flashed at that as he looked up at her. “You're acting like pack,” he rumbled, his eyes flashing at Peter warningly. “You're protecting, nurturing, and looking after them. It's pack.”

“But I'm not pack,” Stiles frowned.

“Doesn't stop you from acting like it,” Derek muttered, reaching around her for another loop of bandages.

“Are you sure you're not pack, Stiles?” Peter questioned casually.

“I've only done what any decent human being would do,” Stiles retorted. “I've not done something magical.”

“A decent human being wouldn't try to convince us to come back,” Boyd muttered.

Stiles pointed a finger at him. “I thought you were on my side!”

“You smell wrong,” Erica told her, a glint in her eyes. “I didn't notice it before, but I notice it now. You smell wrong. It makes my wolf anxious.”

Stiles stared at her. “The hell kind of statement is that? That's totally irrelevant!”

“No, it's really not,” Peter chuckled. “What's she saying is that you don't smell like pack, but their wolves recognize you as such. They wouldn't have listened to you, or trusted you so much if their wolves didn't want them to.”

“So –what?” Stiles asked, looking around the room. “I'm pack-but-not-really?”

“You're pack if you want to be,” Derek corrected, looking up at her as he smoothed down the medical tape to keep her bandages in place.

“Which then begs the question,” Peter continued, “do you want to be pack?”

Stiles stared at them all, her mind blown. Almost unconsciously, she pulled her white shirt over her head and began to pull on her red hoodie, zipping it up quietly. Fiddling with the tag for a minute, Stiles shook her head.

“I can't be pack,” she told them. “If I'm pack, then Scott's an Omega.”

“So?” Erica snorted. “He's not much of a werewolf anyways, is he?”

Stiles scowled at her. “You chose the bite, Reyes, remember? Scott didn't. Scott also didn't get the pleasure of having his Alpha guide him through the change. I had to do that. We didn't trust Derek, and Peter here? Was a raging psycho, if he's not anymore. His situation is different, and I think he's doing okay, given the circumstances.”

“But he's not,” Boyd countered. “Not if he's only got one person in his pack. He's barely a Beta, especially if you're more pack to us then him.”

“Well, I can't change that,” Stiles snapped, “now can I? You're right: Scott's just a Beta. Even if he were an Alpha, he wouldn't make a good one. He's not experienced enough; and he doesn't trust the wolfy bit of himself. But what do you want me to do? I'm trying to make a bad situation from becoming worse. You think I haven't thought about trying to get him to join your pack? If I thought it would work, I'd do it in a heartbeat!”

Silence followed this proclamation and Stiles mentally recapped what she said until she closed her eyes with a groan, smacking her left hand to her face. She didn't even care when she hit her bruise because, frankly, she kind of deserved it.

“Fuck my life,” she rolled her eyes heavenward, “seriously. What is this fuckery?”

“Stiles, you should be pack,” Erica told her quietly. “We need you.”

Stiles looked at her. “I know,” she told her honestly. “But so does Scott. I won't just up and ditch you, Erica, I don't do shit like that. But that's kind of the problem. And as Boyd said, Scott's in a crap position; I'll work on him to try and get him into your pack. But I can't promise it'll work.”

“So you're pack-but-not-really,” Erica sighed.

“Told you,” Stiles snorted. “Now don't we have, like, important things to do?”

“We were just researching the kanima when we heard you pull up,” Peter replied loftily before striding over to a desk and flipping open his laptop.

“The lizard's a kanima?” Stiles frowned as she got up and followed him. “Alright, and Jackson's the lizard.”

“Yer a lizard, Jackie,” Erica snorted.

“We think he's transforming,” Derek told them as he and Stiles stopped on either side of Peter. “Gerard had him kill himself on the field which kick-started his transformation; Scott and Isaac are with the body now.”

“It looks like what we've seen from Jackson is just his Beta shape,” Peter told them, typing away at his computer.

“Like what, he's going to turn into something bigger?” Derek asked, hunching over him.

“Bigger and better,” he drawled.

“He's got another form?” Stiles rolled her eyes. “Of course he freaking does, goddamn.” Looking at what popped up on the screen, her eyes widened. “Oh goddamn.”

“He's turning into that?” Derek's eyes widened. “That –has wings.”

“I can see that,” Peter remarked, looking surprised.

“Someone better call Scott,” Stiles muttered, her eyes wide. “Especially if he's currently transforming.”

Derek grunted in agreement and snapped out his phone, dialling Scott fast as Peter shifted around on the computer. Stiles frowned and cocked her head at what she was seeing, even as she heard Erica and Boyd move closer to her.

“Oh, look, someone's made an animation of his transformation,” Peter muttered, bending in to look at the screen, Stiles leaning over him slightly.

“Scott,” Derek snapped into his phone, “bring Jackson to us, now.”

“–maybe it'll be less frightening if we–“ Peter continued to mumble as Scott replied.

A horrible screech sounded from the screen, and Peter, Derek, and Stiles all reeled back quite suddenly. Peter slammed the macbook closed as he turned to look at the two behind him.

“Nope, not at all,” Peter stated. “We should probably meet him half-way.”

Derek brought his phone back up. “Scott, get him out of there now.”

Peter was up and moving, Derek right behind him as Erica and Boyd followed Derek. Stiles shook her head before taking off after them.

“Well,” she said helplessly as she leapt into the backseat of the camaro with Erica and Boyd. “Fuck.”

**Author's Note:**

> Yep, so, this is a thing now.


End file.
